The Story of Us (3 page)

Thankfully, it didn't happen that way.

I strained my ears and heard the sound of a car door opening and a deep voice speaking rapidly with words I couldn't make out, and then Caroline's (probably incoherent) response. But at least someone else was here now, someone who could help. I struggled to hear more, but a really irritating sound coming from the front of the vehicle kept distracting me. Actually, the noise had been there for several minutes I realised; a sort of intermittent crackling. I leaned over to one side, as far as my trapped legs would allow, and waited for it to come again. I only had to wait for a few seconds, and then I saw a small yellow glow flickering briefly like a trapped firefly, coming from behind the smashed dashboard. But no firefly I've ever heard of makes that weird arcing and shorting electrical sound. I edged back in my seat, my eyes riveted to the dashboard as though it was a coiled cobra.

It was frustrating not knowing what was happening on the road, but I didn't want to distract the new arrival with my own situation. Amy, and to a lesser extent Caroline, were of more pressing importance just now. The crackling, crisp-crunching noise came again, this time accompanied by the brightest flare of a spark so far.

I could only hope that whoever had just arrived had telephoned for help, because my phone was with Caroline's in our bags in the boot of the car. And Amy's… well, I guessed Amy wasn't going to be able to tell us where her phone was for a little while.
Or ever.

‘Shut up!' I cried to that evil voice, not realising I'd said the words aloud at the precise moment that a face came into my field of vision. Someone was looking down at me from the edge of the bank.

‘Hello there.' The voice belonged to a man who appeared to be in his mid-thirties, a man with dark wavy hair and a face whose calm expression belied the gravity of our situation. He
had
to be concerned and worried to have three wounded accident victims suddenly becoming his instant responsibility, but you'd never have known it from the tone of his voice, or the gentle smile he gave as his eyes darted over the car and me, quickly assessing the situation.

‘Hi,' I replied in response.

He lifted his hand and raked a powerful flashlight beam over the car's interior and then over me, from my head to my legs, which disappeared from view at about knee level behind the collapsed seat. He frowned a little when he saw the bleeding head wound, then a lot when he saw my legs.

‘You're hurt.' It was a statement, not a question. I raised my hand to my forehead, all the while shaking my head in denial.

‘It's nothing. My friends? Have you called for help? One of them went through the windscreen. How is she? Is she okay? And Caroline… I think she's in shock.'

‘They're okay,' he said reassuringly, and I didn't challenge the obvious lie. ‘Help's on the way, it'll be here soon and your friend… Caroline… is looking after the other girl—'

‘Amy,' I provided, knowing full well that Caroline was currently in no state to be looking after anyone. Why wasn't he out there helping Amy?

‘Please, just go back and take care of them,' I urged, as I saw him assess the steep-sided bank and the angle of the car and realised what he was intending to do. ‘I'll be fine here until someone else comes.'

He smiled back at me as he swung himself down from the edge of the bank and landed lightly on the bonnet of the car. Nevertheless the mangled metal groaned loudly beneath his weight. It was hard to tell from this angle, but he looked tall, possibly well over six foot and broadly built.

‘I don't think so. I think we should try and get you out, right now. I'm Jack, by the way,' he completed and it was only then that I heard the soft burr of an American accent.

‘Emma,' I replied automatically, and then for no good reason that I can possibly think of, I added, ‘I'm getting married in a fortnight.'

‘Congratulations,' he responded, winding Amy's jacket around his hands to protect them.

‘We were on my hen night.'

He gave a small nod, his attention fixed on the windscreen. ‘Cover your eyes.'

I looked up at him blankly. Perhaps Caroline wasn't the only one in shock.

‘I need to punch out the glass so I can climb in and help you out.'

‘It's no use, my legs are stuck behind the driver's seat. I've tried, but I can't get out.'

Just then the entire dashboard was illuminated by a huge spark from the car's damaged electrics. Jack's forehead crumpled into a frown, but the gentling smile never left his face. ‘Let's just see, shall we? Cover your eyes.'

I did as he said, so can't say exactly what he did next, but I heard several loud thumps, a grunt or two and then suddenly I was being showered in a shrapnel rainfall of broken windscreen. It fell over and around me like lethal hail, landing in my hair, settling on my face and even sticking to the bloodied wound on my forehead. I went to brush the pieces off my face, but was stilled by his shouted warning. ‘Don't touch it, just shake your head.' I did as he suggested, and most of the pieces fell away.

He gave another smile. ‘Can't have you ruining that pretty face for the wedding photos,' he said, sliding through the aperture which had once held the windscreen. The moment he entered the car his demeanour changed. He froze, half-crouched on the front passenger seat, and inhaled. I couldn't see what was worrying him, until I did likewise. Petrol. Really strong petrol. Why hadn't I smelled it before? The odour was everywhere, the car was permeated and bathed in pungent fumes. More crackles from the front dashboard caused both of us to turn in that direction. We looked back at each other with identical expressions.

‘Let's just get you out.'

I shook my head angrily. ‘Just go. You won't be able to do anything, and if this stuff ignites, there's no need for both of us to be in here.'

He carried on as if I hadn't spoken. He reached down to one side and released the lever to recline the passenger seat, and pushed it back as far as it would go. A moment later he was beside me on the cramped remains of the back seat. He was a big guy and seemed to totally fill the space. His face was only centimetres from mine.

‘Hi,' he grinned, as though we weren't in the middle of a life-threatening crisis.

I gripped his arm with an urgency that I just couldn't see in him. ‘You have to get out of here. Now!'

He just shook his head, as though I'd said something totally ridiculous. ‘You first, then me.'

Who was he, this American stranger who was risking his own life to save mine?

‘Now tell me,' he continued in a tone of voice that sounded as casual as if we were chatting at a dinner party, ‘are you hurt anywhere else besides your head? Can you feel your legs, move your feet okay?' I wriggled my ankles, as much as I could, and winced a little with the pain.

‘No. All good,' I reported back.

That earned me another smile.

‘Let's just have a look at this seat, shall we?' asked Jack, leaning forwards and across me to examine it closely, pushing experimentally at several points along the back of the frame. He did this a few times, more strenuously, grunting with the effort. My field of vision and lap was entirely full of this kind (but clearly misguided) accidental hero, who was making my rescue his current mission.

‘I'm sorry, I'm going to have to get a little personal here,' he said, placing both his hands on my bare legs and running them down what was accessible of my limbs, until they disappeared under the seat, presumably to see if there was a way of pulling them free. There was an unhurried air to his exploration, even though I knew that a very deadly clock was ticking. ‘I apologise for that,' he said again, straightening up until he was once more beside me. ‘I know how fond you Brits are of your personal space.' How could he sound so light-hearted at a time like this?

Suddenly a small muted puffing sound came from the front of the car, followed by a long thin snaking white trail of smoke, which began to meander out of one of the vents. Jack glanced at me, all humour gone. For the first time he looked worried.

‘Please go.'

He shook his head. ‘I think I might be able to push on the seat hard enough to give you enough room to wriggle your legs free.'

He was strong, I could tell that. His forearms were muscled, and with his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow, I could see his well-developed biceps straining against the fabric as he braced his arms and pushed on the frame of the seat. The entire back of the car seemed to vibrate with the effort and force he was expelling. Suddenly a dull tearing noise interrupted the low growl Jack was making from the effort. And then his arm just disappeared into the back of the seat through a gaping hole in the material.

‘Fuck! That hurt!' he exclaimed. ‘Sorry,' he apologised ludicrously. He withdrew his arm from the hole and it was covered in blood flowing from a long deep cut which ran along the inside of his foreman. The unyielding metal of the frame had sliced viciously back in retaliation. That did it.

‘For Christ's sake give up. Now
you're
hurt.'

He looked down at his dripping arm. ‘What? This? I've cut myself worse than this shaving.'

‘You shave your arms?' He grinned at that. ‘Jack, please,' I implored, using his name for the first time. I kind of liked the way it sounded. ‘The fire engines are on their way. They'll have all the proper equipment to cut me out of here. They'll have those Jaws of Death thingies.'

‘Jaws of Life,' he corrected.

‘Whatever. I can hang on until then. I'll be okay as long the petrol doesn't seep into the car and ignite.'

He looked at me intently, and I wondered whether I should have paid more attention to those chemistry lessons at school, after all. From the look on his face, what I thought I knew about combustible fuels was completely and utterly wrong. ‘What? Isn't that right?'

‘It's not just the
gas
that can ignite, Emma. The
fumes
can too.'

I didn't need it spelling out any more clearly. The car was full of them, and they were getting stronger by the minute.

I nodded at the seat. ‘Try again.'

He turned his body slightly, and braced his back against the side of the car.

‘Let's try a new position, this time, shall we?'

Despite everything that was going on, there was a cheeky double-meaning in his words, which I didn't doubt was deliberate. It was there in the twinkle of his eye, as he brought up his legs and positioned one large booted foot on either side of the seat's frame.

Absolutely anyone could have been driving the car that stopped to come to our rescue; it could have been a woman, a wimpy stick-thin man, or even a coward. I'm just eternally grateful that instead it was a big, strong, athletic man, with a curiously over-developed hero complex. I knew it was going to work, even before the seat began to move. I knew that that level of steely determination, the grimace of concentration and the extraordinary strength and effort, were going to succeed. He would have it no other way.

The seat didn't give much, but at the first small protesting moan from the metal, I got ready. Then, when finally I felt the smallest of movement and lessening of pressure, I whipped my legs up, and suddenly I was free. Amazingly, apart from cuts and the kind of bruises so horrible you end up taking photographs of them, my legs were intact.

Almost as though the car, hungry for my blood, knew I was about to get away, a shower of sparks flew out of each of the vents on the dashboard. The world's smallest and deadliest fireworks display.

‘Go,' he urged, gripping hold of my upper arm and manhandling me over the reclined seat and into the front of the car. I clambered through the front windscreen cavity and crawled on all fours up the slippery incline of the bonnet. Jack was following close behind.

‘That gas is going to blow, stand on the edge of the hood, I'll push you up.'

‘Petrol and bonnet,' I corrected.

‘You are one very bossy woman,' he replied, pushing me up the car with a hand placed quite unashamedly on my backside. He hauled me to my feet on to the bumper and then had to catch and steady me when I tried to apply weight on to my legs, which were still numb and tingling from their ordeal. I hung on to his arm and looked up at the sheer sides of the ditch in concern. I hadn't actually realised how deep it was; the road had to be at least three metres above my head. How on earth had Caroline managed to climb up it so easily?

‘I don't think I can—'

He was way ahead of me. He dropped to his knees at my feet as though he was about to propose. ‘Stand on my shoulders.'

‘I'm too heavy.'

There were sparks flaring almost continually from the dashboard. We didn't have long.

‘Are you fishing for compliments? Because I really don't think this is the time. Now get up there.'

I placed my hands in his outstretched ones to gain balance and placed one bare foot on each broad and solid shoulder. He got to his feet so easily, you'd think he did this every day of the week. I tried to help, grabbing on to whatever roots or foliage I passed for a handhold, as the top of the ditch came into view.

I was almost there.

I looked down at the man who I was literally standing on to secure my safety. ‘What about you? Can you get up here?'

‘Don't worry about me. I'll be right behind you.'

I was still crawling away from the ditch on all fours, when the sparks and the fumes stopped their teasing courtship and made their first and final deadly encounter. Caroline's car exploded like a bomb in an inferno of flames.

The blast knocked me flat on to the road, and in its wake I felt a hot wave crest across my body. I glanced back over my shoulder before crawling once more on to my knees. There was certainly no problem in seeing anything now. The fire from the blazing car lit up the surrounding area almost as brightly as daylight. I felt a hand cup my elbow and raise me to my feet.